


Did You Miss Me?

by BlueIcicle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, i hated s4 so much so this is my way of coping, no euros fyi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueIcicle/pseuds/BlueIcicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock told John he loved him, thinking they would never see each other again. Little did he know that only minutes later, he would have to come back home. Fix-it fic for season four (aka Euros doesn't exist), picks up on the tarmac in HLV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Miss Me?

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic years ago, and realized that the only way I can get over the mess that was TFP is to write it out of existence. I've started with editing my old writing (cringe), but there is more to come, school permitting. Enjoy!

Sherlock was always good at making snap decisions. Deduction, quick thinking, those were his talents, his pride and joy. He could spend hours in his head, thinking and puzzling, only to find that he'd been gone for just a few minutes.

But these moments, these precious few moments, were slipping away all too quickly.

He was due to get on that plane in about two minutes, and he could barely bring himself to speak. He had been reliably informed many times that he couldn’t shut up, but when it really counted, he couldn’t form a single syllable.

He blathered on about baby names in lieu of anything emotional, anything real. Silence followed.

Sherlock glanced up for a moment, appealing to a deity he didn’t believe in. John seemed just as awkward, looking around, looking anywhere to avoid Sherlock's eyes.

The silence was broken, as John swung his vision back to face him. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “You know, I can’t think of a single thing to say.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Neither can I.”

He almost looked back at John, but couldn’t quite manage it. Instead he focused his gaze over John's shoulder, on the horizon.

“The game… is over.”

That snapped Sherlock back to attention. “The game is never over, John.” It may be changed, but never, ever over. “But there may be some new players, now,” And an absent one, he thought. “That’s okay. The east wind takes us all in the end.”

He relayed to John the story of the East Wind, and answered John’s questions about where he was going, and for how long. His mouth was running on autopilot, while his brain tried to figure out what to say to John, how to say it. Normally he wouldn’t even be considering this, this confession, but he was about to go on a suicide mission. What better time could come up? And besides, he always did prefer the dramatic way of doing things.

He looked down at his shoes again ( _Were they always that blurry?_ ), summoning his courage.

“John, there’s something… I should say… I-I meant to say always, and I never have,” His mouth moved faster than his mind, for once. “Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again,” _Oh, god,_ he thought.  _Shut up, just shut up_. “I might as well say it now.” He took another breath, steadying himself. You know what? No, he didn’t really want to do this anymore.  _Say something else, anything else-_

“John Watson, I’m in love with you.”

Though he’d never admit it, he was expecting some sort of reaction. A hug, a laugh. A kiss was a bit of a stretch, but a man could hope. What he didn't expect was... well, just a simple blink.

John’s eyes went wide as Sherlock realized he was shaking with the relief of that enormous weight gone from his mind.

John blinked exactly three more times, slowly furrowing his brow. “Sorry, you’re… I mean you… me?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes you, do you see any other John Watson’s around?” He sensed John's skepticism, and sighed. “No, this isn’t a dare, or a trick, or a prank, no one set me up to this, and no, you’re not dreaming.”

In the echoing silence, he held out his hand. “To the very best of times, John.”

After a moment, John raised his hand to grasp Sherlock’s, holding it tight, as if it were a lifeline. “Sherlock...“

Reluctantly, the detective slipped his hand out of the grasp he so desperately wanted, pulling on his gloves. He turned, blinking away tears. At least now he could go on to his fate a little more freely, unburdened of his  _feelings_ , which he thought he'd been finally rid of all those years ago.

The climb onto the small plane seemed like a death march, his loved ones watching, yet unable to stop him.

The plane was small, yet comfortable, and he chose a seat where he could see John through the small window. He was still standing there, hand reaching towards the plane, with a stunned expression on his face. The last glimpse Sherlock saw was Mary entangling her fingers with her husband's.

As the plane took off, he thought he could be thankful for the fact that it didn’t matter how John felt, as he wouldn't be around for the aftermath. It was almost a win-win, he supposed. He could stop obsessing about his feelings, and John could process the news without Sherlock interrupting his life anymore.

“Sir?” The co-pilot interrupted his musings. “It’s your brother.”

Sherlock reached for the phone that was being offered, and held it to his ear.

“Mycroft.”

“Hello, little brother. How’s the exile going?”

“I’ve only been gone four minutes!” What on Earth could his brother need already? Was he to jump out of the plane, save the British government some fuel money?

“Well, I certainly hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

_Oh, hell._

“As it turns out, you’re needed.”

 _Shit_ , he thought. “Oh, for God’s sake, make up your mind! Who needs me this time?” As long as he didn't have to go anywhere near London, it'd be fine.

“England.”

_Fuck._

Just as he was thinking of a new curse, one perfect for his situation, the in-flight entertainment screens flicked on.

“Did you miss me?”

Even this small peace he had, was ruined by that goddamn man. Now he’d have to go back and deal with John and Mary, and their domestic bliss, and to top it all off, _he_  was back.

Sherlock voiced his thoughts aloud this time.

“Oh, fuck you Jim!”


End file.
